“It gets to seem as if way back in the Garden of Eden after the Fall, Adam and Eve had begged the Lord to forgive them and He, in his boundless exasperation had said, ‘All right, then. Stay. Stay in the Garden. Get civilized. Procreate. Muck it up.’ And they did.” Diane Arbus
surfacing from mother-sea, we came ~
we came shape-shifting and sighing,
living before the prescient moon and
under the life-giving sun, we climbed
mountains and marched into valleys
short-lived, we camped by the riverside,
we slept in caves, we cleared the forest,
built cities that domesticated us
we became sophisticated, forgot our
rootedness in the archives of heaven,
our shared destiny with the earth, we
forsook our history and the stars,
invented math, maps and compasses,
governments, borders and ownership
we built great ships to sail the oceans,
to drum across the sky and away to outer
realms and other planets, we mislaid our
true stories and, in ignorance suckled
on prefabricated values, these streamed
from cold fires that stoked insecurities ~
we confused wants and needs, hungered
for the sake of our own stupidity
and someone else’s greed
© 2017, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT
Perhaps you see our evolving in a more positive frame than Diane Arbus and I suggest here. Then again, maybe not. Tell us about it in a poem or poems.
Share your poem/s on theme or a link to it/them in the comments section below.
All poems on theme will be published next Tuesday. Please do NOT email your poem to me or leave it on Facebook. If you do it’s likely I’ll miss it or not see it in time.
IF this is your first time joining us for The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photo to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com in order to introduce yourself to the community … and to me :-). These will be partnered with your poem/s on first publication.
PLEASE send the bio ONLY if you are with us on this for the first time AND only if you have posted a poem (or a link to one of yours) on theme in the comments section below.
Deadline: Monday, August 20 at 8 p.m. Pacific.
Anyone may take part Wednesday Writing Prompt, no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro. It’s about exercising the poetic muscle, sharing your work, and getting to know other poets who might be new to you. This is a discerning nonjudgemental place to connect.
ABOUT
Poet and writer, I was once columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. Currently I run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded. I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers.
My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman.
Lovely poem, Jamie. It is like a historical chronicle of humanity with a strong social critique.
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Thank you, Marta!
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You are welcome.
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Hello! Here is my take on this week’s prompt. (Sorry if this posted twice – my computer froze the first time and I wasn’t sure it posted)
https://iidorun.wordpress.com/2018/08/20/opposable-thumbs/
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No worries.
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Hello! Here is my contribution for the Wednesday Prompt. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s anymore optimistic (even though I really tried hard for it to be!). Thank you so much for this thought provoking inspiration!
https://iidorun.wordpress.com/2018/08/20/opposable-thumbs/
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Thank YOU! Please send a photo and a brief bio to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com so I can introduce you to everyone. Soon is best. 🙂
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Hello! I had sent you one about two weeks ago as an intro. I can send again if you need?
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I’m sorry. Yes! Of course you did and we don’t need it a second time. Thanks for participating again. Warmest, J.
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ON THE CUSP
A yacht sails in summer, northwards to the Pole.
A slush of gelatinous grey greets its bow
as it makes its ambivalent journey.
On Admiralty charts a woman replaces islands,
sketches new sandbars, reefs marked with buoys,
while their people are moving into legend.
Lines of footprints cover deserts; jackals, bones,
eyeballs. Driven from shelter to shelter, children
ailing and confused, half-filled ditches,
refuse tips: where will the unborn live as
their families take flight?
A gig
was once a party, an impromptu concert
in a corner pub, a mingle of music, sweat
and beers.A world of miasma now,
of beck and call for paupers’ pay, waiting
to be plucked like a lobster from a tank.
Yes, yes, the richest should have more,
more tax-breaks crammed into their maw
until they vomit gold, excrete jewels and mansions,
super yachts and private jets, smearing
earth and airwaves
with their self-obsessed banalities.
In shadowed lobbies, their hired hands work
on dispossession, the cutting of common bonds,
democracy just one more acquisition.
Anthropocene.
Swallowing the future
Is the corporate plan.
We know enough
To stop and turn and heal
Our poisoned planet.
Are we enough
To gather now together?
FALSE LIGHT
The moon scatters the light it has stolen
out of vanity, cycling round us in
its futile effulgence. Earthworms harvest
the autumn’s leaves, enriching the crust, thin
below the dwindling branches where we sit
and watch the axes hew the trunk and slash.
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Love the beautiful imagery and the social critique of this.
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Transformation
Systems call out for evolution,
for complexity, development, transformation,
a whole new suit
of cells, mutation of molecules
and microbes replacing themselves
at rapid rates, a constant reminder
that so much of myself
is not myself, but a cocktail party
of bacteria and viruses, which
sounds bad, very noisy gut,
but so efficient; they communicate,
even between different sorts.
Their differences do not
paralyze them. This human
language I am so proud of,
is clunky next to what happens,
the communication of organisms
and systems, inside me.
So many misunderstandings out here
among humans, while inside us,
networks are constantly lit up,
exchanging essential info, proteins
and amino acids, adjusting
and altering, individual evolutions,
on a daily basis, sometimes hourly.
I should listen more, learn something.
But mostly that’s just not how I roll.
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A very scientific and up-to-date poem. Combining science and literature is a great thing instead of seeing them as separate disciplines.
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A small second:
I Can Do It Myself
said the 2 year old to his mommy
and tripped on the untied shoelaces
falling to the ground and waited
for his mommy to pick him up,
dust him off, and set him right
so he could once again insist,
“I can do it myself!”
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Truth!! That age is so full of contradictions. Love this!
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Lol! That’s about right
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I like the succinctness of this poem and how you have been able to express so much about one of the most important moments of life. The title and the last verse are perfect.
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Always a beautiful elegant model for us, Jamie.
Mine, a little less so:
Evidence Against Evolution
women dragged by the hair into the dank rock caverns of the cavemen
women uncounted in records of attendance when miracles performed
women operated on to remove bits of brain believed
to create trouble for men
women unacceptable as witnesses in man’s court
women condemned to death by superstitious men
But now
with more education, enlightenment, progress
women drugged, raped, silenced
– without ever being victims of hate crimes
women questioned and doubted in courts and media
– dismissed by sound bite hash tags and tweets
women humiliated for combining emotional expression
and intelligent thought
– the 1% used as proof glass ceiling is gone, when it is
only windexed
women condemned to death by superstitious men
– for shedding their own blood rather than another’s
Evolution?
Just finer tuned delusion.
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As chilling as it is true. Thank you for this, Debbie.
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Thanks, Jamie.
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Sobering, but sadly true
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Very eloquent, thought provoking. Loved it!
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Thank you.
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You are welcome.
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Suffrage is a meaning-laden term, and you demonstrate that powerfully here. Keep punching, please!
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Thank you – keep punching indeed!
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Hi Jamie!
I’m attempting a blogging comeback. Those were happy times and I’m determined to make a come back. Baby steps… If you’d like a bio I will add one to introduce myself to this group. I have evolved but haven’t changed. 😉
Here’s my (novice) poem on evolution.
https://sillyfrogsusan.wordpress.com/2018/08/15/knots-of-time/
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Evolving Door
In goes a lungfish
And out comes an outcome.
Pop go the measles
And wipe out a tribe.
Lenny heard Zug Nicht
And wandered about some.
Thundering Diesels
Suggest we imbibe.
In goes a notion
And out comes an essay.
Guidelines and labels
Give sojourning ease.
Spit in the ocean
And spite minks and sables.
Laissez-faire less, eh.
And conquer displease.
Tuppence for pleasantries;
Cheese-whizzed parcheesi
Challenges wellsprung
Make Autumn to mold.
If you’re uneasy,
Dear Reader, nor well hung,
Take ye some evolvement
Out doorways to freedom
And bed and break strictures
To push through the membrane;
Grow pairs not of testes
But peregrine wings.
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Original and creative. I like how you address the “Dear Reader” in the last stanza with a mixture of respect and irony.
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So glad you saw the respect/irony tightrope, Marta!
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You have a wonderful play with the language that seeps into the pores!
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Thanks for the good warm feeling I just got reading your kind words! 🙂
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.head above water, a swimmers perspective.
Metaphorically, i have spent much of my life, keeping my head above water.
Dealing with life facts and disappointments, not forgetting the quiet times to help the work along
I lived on the coast, played by the sea
As a child, I floated gently until all became spongey. Now I swim head above water, up and down obsessively counting, hoping all will come clear..
Friends in water talk more, baring much, reflecting their clothing
I am drawn to water, my work reflective. Writing, swimming, painting, drawing.
I collect cuttings of people in water.
“a diary, a personal relationship with the landscape.
“Shoreline would be more an exploration of the concept….shorelines more related to actual examples…..how about that?
Shoreline…..an ever-changing interface……between 2 media…..2
worlds…..can be crossed in both directions, but only temporarily?……but
aren’t we only here because something had the courage to cross
permanently…..something emerging from the sea is such a powerful
image….turtles, ursula andress in dr. no, monsters from the deep…..and
why do we find it such an attractive place to be
xx salty”
sbm
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Beautifully crafted with the water element as a basis. Actually, and according to psychology, water is related to our emotions and feelings,which is exactly what you have done here so well done.
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.the query.
winding wool is mindless
she said, well maybe madam,
yet look at the lovely machine,
all red and cream plastic, that
winds in a way we cannot do
by hand.
look at my work which evolves
while working this and thinking.
i folded her goods tidily, packed in a
nice paper bag, said nothing
except mere politeness and niceties.
then got on with winding.
mindfully.
sbm.
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Thanks Jamie……first response
. day six .
your eyes last night were wide, your body
smaller without the sleep, all that
worry and distress.
it will not end , just change and evolve.
sometimes it takes years, and then it is
never the same.
any more.
maybe you must go back to sleep
a while.
i will keep reading, tell you all
when you wake
#bear.
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my second response:
To…
upright, you can see further,
and in the sand prints
of your own feet, and others,
smaller, differently shaped,
Now you would say these are scratches
on pages, distinct signs in a forest,
or plain, each holds itself a tell, a map,
of sense and season and root.
smooth your hand over gnarled
stick of then that supports your weight
when you stride forward to follow
the beckoning of others tracks,
inhale the freshness from the waves,
that tastes salty to your tongue,
the sweetness from the inland trees,
and smaller flimsy coloured leaves,
and a bitterness, a stink gets stronger,
as you trace the tracks other
than your own go inland, broken
leaves. How many feet does it have?
Now accused of techno anomie
because you refuse others access to your senses,
your avatar still in the forest, on the plain,
walks without aid beside the everwaves .
(From “The Spermbot Blues”, OpPRESS, 2017)
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Hi Jamie,
Here’s my first response:
From…
evercrash of waves put me
on the untouched shore
I crawl because i don’t know
how to walk this grain.
Now I would say tumbled waves
are fletched like an arrow constantly
turned to ensure its flight straight
and unencumbered by splinters.
Later I staunch blood, remember
the now of the sun then, too bright,
too warm in this comfort blanket.
Now I would say I was slippery
as bladderwrack or between thighs
of a woman heated by want,
and hungry but not for food.
I leave it to the ocean
behind me that flickers
with sounds some of which
i understand but the waters
less and less drag me back,
push me to drygrain land.
I must find leafshelter
in the arms of mothered soil,
in the limbs of the trees,
beneath the coddling leaves,
a fallen tree stump helps
me stand. I break a branch
test it does not break with my weight.
I stand free of the stump. Upright.
Now I would say my skin
lost its sheen, became sticky
as the green blood of plants
that trap food with their leaves.
(from “The Spermbot Blues”, OpPRESS, 2017)
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